CHAPTER XXXV.
When Lady Avondale awoke from her slumbers she found the whole castle in a state of confusion. Lady Margaret had twice sent for her. Every one was occupied with this extraordinary event. Her name, and Lord Glenarvon’s were mentioned together, and conjectures, concerning the whole scene, were made by every individual.
At Gerald Mac Allain’s earnest entreaties, the body of Alice was conveyed to his own house, near the Garden Cottage. He wished no one to be informed of the particulars of her melancholy fate. He came, however, a few days after her removal, to ask for Calantha. She was ill; but mediately admitted him. They talked together upon all that had occurred. He gave her a letter, and a broach, which had been found upon the body. It was addressed to Lord Glenarvon. There was also a lock of hair, which seemed, from the fineness of its texture, to belong to a child. The letter was a mournful congratulation on his supposed marriage with a lady in England, written at some former period; it wished him every happiness, and contained no one reproach. The broach consisted of a heart’s ease, which she entreated him sometimes to wear in remembrance of one, who had loved him truly. “Heart’s ease to you—mais triste pensée pour moi,” was engraved upon it. “You must yourself deliver these,” said Mac Allain looking wistfully at Calantha. She promised to do so.
Mac Allain then drew forth a larger packet which was addressed to himself. “I have not yet read it,” he said, “I am not able to see for my tears; but it is the narration of my child’s sorrows; and when I have ended it, I will give it to you, my dear lady, and to any other whom you may wish.” “Oh Mac Allain!” said Lady Avondale, “by every tie of gratitude and affection which you profess, and have shewn our family, do not let any one read this but myself:—do not betray Lord Glenarvon. He feels your sufferings: he more than shares them. For my sake I ask you this. Keep this transaction secret; and, whatever may be suspected, let none know the truth.—Say: may I ask it?”
Calantha’s agitation moved him greatly. He wept in bitter anguish. “The destroyer of my child,” he said, “will lead my benefactress into misery. Ah! my dear young lady, how my heart bleeds for you.” Impatiently, she turned away. “Will you hear my entreaties,” she said. “You may command; but the news of my child’s death is spread: many are talking of it already: I cannot keep it secret.” “Only let not Lord Glenarvon’s name appear.” Mac Allain promised to do all in his power to silence every rumour; and, with the help of O’Kelly, he, in some measure succeeded. The story believed was, that Mr. Buchanan first had carried her with him to England, where she had fallen into poverty and vice. No further enquiry was made; but Lord Glenarvon himself confided to many, the secret which Calantha was so eager to conceal.
The narrative of Alice’s sufferings may be omitted by those who wish not to peruse it. Lord Glenarvon desired to read it when Calantha had ended it. He also took the broach, and pressing it to his lips, appeared very deeply affected. After this, for a short time he absented himself from the castle. The following pages, written by Alice, were addressed to her only surviving parent. No comment is made on them; no apology offered for their insertion. If passion has once subdued the power of reason, the misery and example of others never avails, even were we certain of a similar fate. If every calamity we may perhaps deserve, were placed in view before us, we should not pause—we should not avert our steps. To love, in defiance of virtue is insanity, not guilt. To attempt the safety of its victims, were a generous but useless effort of unavailable interference. It is like a raging fever, or the tempest’s fury—far beyond human aid to quell. Calantha read, however, the history of her friend, and wept her fate.